Still recovering from an unexpected tragedy, single dad Wang Yibo isn't sure he's ready to move on - until he meets Xiao Zhan in a bar at Christmas. When what was meant to be a simple one-off encounter becomes more complicated, will Yibo have the st...
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SHUFFLE FORWARD A STEP, stop, pause and take a breath to answer a dozen questions fired like bullets, a mile a moment. That was life for Yibo, it had been for two years. But it was also an appropriate description of his penance as he stood in line to experience the wonder of Christmas at the annual Shining Smiles charity Santa's grotto in Central Park.
His younger son bounced by his side, ramping his older brother into a state of near-collapse with excitement and he swore, like he did every year, that next time they'd do the pizza, soda and all you can eat ice cream after the grotto. The last thing they needed was Santa and sugar.
Fan Xing - as his mother called him - twirled himself dizzy, laughing uproariously as his coat flared at his hips and he called, bright and clear,
"Look, Papa! I'm a star!"
Seven years old and so like his mother in every detail from the sweet eyes to the soft, dark strands that tumbled over his forehead. He was the first angel of his father's eye and had been since the day the doctor placed him into his arms. His older brother joined him, spinning unsteadily on chubby legs, arms outstretched like he could take flight if he just wished for it hard enough.
Cheng - when he wasn't biting anyone - was the same attitude as Yibo, traced from his features with a charismatic smile that can lure older women (Aunties). And although Yibo smiled as he watched them land, ass first, in the snow at the side of the walkway, his heart hurt a little that their mom wasn't here to see those moments, to take them in like he could.
It had been close to three years. He wondered if maybe his friends were right and he should start to move on. The line wound forward and they wound with it, sugar and caffeine and the childlike buzz of being lifting them higher and higher until they were close to turning feral as they took the final few steps towards the grotto. There stood a smiling teenager, resplendent in his elf costume, who took each kid by the hand and led them forward, ushering them onto Santa's lap - a knee apiece - then urged Yibo back as the kids took their moment.
"Ho ho ho,"
Santa was nothing if not predictable, but there was a genuine warmth to his voice, the beard glowing suspiciously white and acrylic against his rosy cheeks and Yibo could almost hear Fan Xing's verging-on-disbelief objection that the real Santa would have a real beard.
"Merry Christmas! Tell me, have you been good little boys and girls?"
Cheng promptly burst into tears. Fat, wet, snotty tears. Santa's eyes widened behind his glasses and he leaned close to Cheng's ear, murmuring something Yibo couldn't catch that calmed the sobs before he could take half a step forward to rescue his son. Fan Xing regarded Santa with his mom's curiosity and sparkle and Yibo snapped a discrete picture of two tiny faces tilted up in wonder.
He heard very little of their conversation, the three of them as thick as thieves as they whispered conspiracies punctuated with smiles and giggles. He caught the sixty-four-thousand chinese yuan question though to the ring of,
"And what can Santa bring you for Christmas?"
"A robot!" Cheng squeaked.
"A puppy! A — a dinosaur!"
You're shit outta luck, kid, Yibo thought with a wry grin, you're getting a scooter. Fan Xing, for his part, just rolled his eyes, shot his daddy a speculative glance and, hand cupped in secrecy, leaned up to whisper into Santa's ear. Santa glanced at Yibo, a look impossible interpret behind the magnificence of his fake beard and the thick glasses. He pressed a hand to the little boy's strands and, with a wink and a hohoho, sent them scurrying back to Yibo with the usual cheap toy tucked under their arms.
"What did you ask for, Fan Xing Boo?" He asked with heavy curiosity.
"I can't tell you, silly,"
he sang out like he was the biggest idiot (he was, but he could have been nicer about it.)
"Or else I won't know if Santa is real."
As they fought in the back of the car, a chorus of
"he kicked me," and
"tell him to put his foot back on his side, Papa,"
Yibo rubbed his jaw and blinked eyes that always felt heavy with exhaustion. He half-heartedly demanded peace amongst the warring factions and, flicking a glance at the dark circles under his eyes in the rear-view mirror, he wondered if anything would ever lift the aching sadness in his chest.
